


Of Fire and Water

by DoctorBibbly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 00:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3467609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBibbly/pseuds/DoctorBibbly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“God...John,” Sherlock whispered hoarsely against his ear, “I thought I’d lost you.” He was still panting from the absurd amount of haste he had put into rescuing John from the giant bonfire that had threatened to kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Fire and Water

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a PWP. I hadn't written in AGES and used to write in a completely different fandom, but I decided to give it a go again. Thanks to Kez for being my beta! Any mistakes are completely my own.
> 
> Oh, to be sure: I don't own anything related to Sherlock, Moffat, etc etc. I'm just borrowing characters.

“God...John,” Sherlock whispered hoarsely against his ear, “I thought I’d lost you.” He was still panting from the absurd amount of haste he had put into rescuing John from the giant bonfire that had threatened to kill him.

***

John was still reeling, staring blankly ahead as he let the taller man hold him steady. All of his senses seemed enhanced, yet completely muddled. _Did I really just almost burn alive?_ He felt himself being steered away from the scene and pushed into a taxi and he heard Sherlock say something to the driver. He couldn’t hear it properly, like he was underwater and his befuddled expression betrayed the fact that he had no idea what was going on. Everything just went completely by him. He knew they were going home and he let himself be guided out of the taxi when they had, Sherlock holding tightly onto his upper arm and maneuvering him inside and up the stairs. He felt himself being steered into the flat towards the bathroom. He didn’t want to think right now and he didn’t mind at all that he was basically being led by the hand.

Through his daze he noticed Sherlock tugging at his shoelaces, the bath being filled with water as he stood there. Sherlock started working on his trousers, long, slender fingers deftly opening the buttons that held it up.

“S... Sherlock... what?” He uttered as the room suddenly came back in full focus. His jacket, shirt and shoes lay discarded on the floor next to him. _How did that happen?_ Sherlock was kneeling in front of him, sliding his trousers and underwear down his legs. “You’re in shock, I’m putting you in the bath,” the detective stated matter-of-factly. John wanted to protest. _This is inappropriate,_ he thought, but let it happen all the same.

“Come on now, in you go,” The baritone of the curly-haired detective told him as he led him into the bath. The feeling of the water overwhelmed him and he let out a deep sigh and realised that it felt like he had been holding his breath the whole time. He could finally relax. He immersed himself completely under water for a short moment, before coming back up and settling himself back against the cool ceramic of the bath. He shut his eyes, smelling the subtle aroma of the bath foam and he willed his mind completely blank.

The sponge started moving over his arm slowly. John opened his eyes and saw Sherlock holding it, completely focused on the wet yellow object moving slowly from John’s wrist towards his elbow. Their eyes locked in an intense stare and Sherlock continued his ministrations, moving further up his arm. “Sherlock, you don’t have to do this,” John said barely above a whisper.

“I want to,” Sherlock replied, a softness permeating from his slightly cracked voice. “I’m just going to wash you, lie back,” he said as he continued his ministrations. John closed his eyes again. _This definitely feels weird_ , he thought, but the completely relaxed feeling it provided proved too much to resist and he gave into it.

***

Washing John Watson was his way of reassuring himself that he was still there, that he didn’t almost die tonight. _What if I showed up five minutes later?_ He shuddered to think and continued his task, moving the sponge over John’s arms, legs, chest and back, making sure all traces of soot were washed away. Trying to erase what happened to his best friend and flat mate, impossible as it was.

After about twenty minutes he laid the sponge down beside the tub and reached for a towel. John looked at him wordlessly and stood up as Sherlock handed him the towel and helped him out of the bath. “Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Sherlock said, leading John out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his shoulders.

***

John dropped the towel and crawled in between the sheets of Sherlock’s bed. The comforters felt safe, smelled of the detective and he sighed and settled into a comfortable position on his side. Sherlock had removed most of his clothes, save his boxers and crawled into the bed, pressing up against John’s backside. The feeling of their bodies pressing against one another set off a spark within John, moving closer against him.

“I could have lost you tonight, you know?” Sherlock he breathed against John’s ear and he shuddered. John’s arm moved back and grabbed the other’s waist, desperately seeking a way to ground himself, needing to feel...something, anything. “I know,” he replied.

“I almost lost it when I realised you were under that bonfire pile,” Sherlock’s voice sounded hoarse against the back of John’s neck. His arms were wrapping himself around John’s torso, keeping him close. John’s body responded to Sherlock’s in ways he wouldn’t have thought about before tonight. Yet somehow, it felt like this was the most natural thing in the world. John noticed a certain desperation in Sherlock’s actions. They felt laden with something else, almost sexual.

 _No, definitely sexual_. He though as he felt something stir in the other’s pants. He had a choice to ignore it and pretend it wasn’t there. But the feeling of Sherlock’s half hard cock pressing against his back was enough to make up his mind and John turned around in Sherlock’s embrace, facing him, “I need to feel you tonight,” he murmured as he pressed his lips against the other in a needy fashion. There was a certain guttural desperation to the way their lips met. It was harsh. Sherlock let out a low groan as they shared a messy exchange of lips, tongue and teeth. John’s hands were tightly wrapped in the other’s hair, wanting to feel him as close as possible, to drown in him. Sherlock’s hands seemed to be everywhere, raking over his skin, feeling every inch of his body, leaving subtle red streaks in their wake.

Their mouths broke apart and Sherlock started a trail of wetness over his jaw towards his neck. The combination of Sherlock’s hungry bites, licks and kisses drove him crazy and he groaned deeply as he bucked his hips forward, pressing his naked length flush against the other’s clothed cock. “Shit,” Sherlock groaned. He grabbed the other’s shoulders and pushed him down on his back and moved swiftly on top to straddle him. One of his hands held the other’s wrists above his head, the other moved in between their bodies and started stroking John’s cock, slicking it with its own pre-cum. His mouth dipped down again and started the beautiful torture on his neck. “You are mine, John Watson,” he rasped out before hungrily pressing their lips together again. John groaned into the kiss, writhing along with the expert movements of Sherlock’s hands on his bare cock.

He broke off the kiss and stared down at the other through heavy-lidded eyes, “You are mine, and no one except me is allowed to touch you ever again.” He moved off the bed and reached into the bedside drawer, grabbing a small bottle of lube. He threw it on the sheets, took off his boxers and crawled back onto the bed, spreading John’s legs, knees bent. The image of the smaller man lying there flushed was enough to make him shudder. He let out a soft groan and brought his head forward, breathing hot air onto the other’s cock. “Please, Sherlock...” John uttered. His hands were quickly uncapping the bottle of lube, spreading some generously onto his fingers.

As one digit started to rub up against the smaller man’s hole, his face was still hovering millimetres from John’s cock.

At the same time that he pressed one finger into John, he took the other’s length into his mouth, tasting the pre-come that had gathered at the tip as his tongue swirled over the head. John was uttering countless moans. He couldn’t think straight any more as Sherlock’s mouth and fingers worked together, preparing him for what was to come. He added a second finger, moving them in a steady rhythm, trying to find that sweet spot inside of the other, grinning around John’s cock when he realised he had found it. “Oh, god, please. Sherlock!”

He retreated both his mouth and fingers, eliciting a delicious moan from the other, trying to get him to return to his ministrations. He quickly slicked his own neglected length with some lube, gasping at the cool touch. Sherlock smiled and leaned over John, “What I’m about to do feels even better,” He whispered and he positioned himself against John’s entrance.

They both gasped loudly as Sherlock slowly entered John’s tight hole. He didn’t stop until he was buried to the hilt. “Are you OK?” He whispered against the other man’s neck, trying to keep still, but having trouble containing himself. John lifted Sherlock’s chin and looked him in the eyes and nodded. “I need to feel you, please go on,” he said, eyes screwed shut in pure bliss. Sherlock started a slow pace, revelling in the tightness of John Watson.

As their rhythm increased, their lips frantically met again, groaning into each other’s mouths. Tongues clashed and lips were bitten as Sherlock hit that sweet spot inside John over and over, while his hands were working John’s length in unison with his thrusts. “Sherlock...” John groaned into the other’s mouth, “I’m so close...please!” His hands were grabbing at Sherlock’s back, holding him as close as he could.

A kind of animalistic instinct took over Sherlock at those words and his thrusts started getting frantic, almost rushed. He felt his own pleasure building to the point where it was almost too much to bear. “Come for me, John.” He grunted, angling himself to make sure that he hit John’s prostate with every thrust.

“Oh God! Sherlock!” John cried out as he saw stars explode in front of his eyes, hips bucking as he came hard onto his own stomach and Sherlock’s hand. The sensation of John tightening around his cock was more than enough to throw him over the edge as well and he came, crying John’s name, filling him up with every last thrust.

Sherlock collapsed onto John’s heaving body. Both men were panting heavily, trying to regain their breathing. The detective smiled and plopped himself down next to John, watching him intently.

John rolled onto his side and wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s waist, pulling him close. “That was...” he uttered, still a bit breathless, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, I completely agree,” Sherlock panted, softly pressing his lips against John’s, pulling the long discarded blankets back over them.

“I’m glad you were there to save me,” John looked at Sherlock in all earnest and closed his eyes. The events of the day had tired him out completely and not minutes after Sherlock could hear that the man had fallen asleep. He smiled and wrapped his arms around the other, closing his eyes.

The next day they would probably have to talk about what happened tonight. For now, everything felt like it should be and it wasn’t long before Sherlock, too, drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!


End file.
